


The Art of Losing a One-Sided Competition: A Comprehensive Guide by Professor Kim Doyoung (PhD)

by mint_choco_icecream



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Idiots in Love, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, fake/ pretend rivals, secret fwb relationship, very mild angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29455632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mint_choco_icecream/pseuds/mint_choco_icecream
Summary: By nature, Doyoung is almost ridiculously competitive. He relishes the way the fight makes the blood thrum and pound through his veins, and the way it ignites a fire deep in the pit of his stomach.Because even more than being competitive in itself, he prides himself on being a winner. Nothing, and he means nothing, can compare to the feeling of defeating everyone else, of seeing their faces fall as his own heart soars.Well, that is, until he meets one single exception by the name of Lee Taeyong, and he discovers that maybe losing isn't so bad after all.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 22
Kudos: 130
Collections: Challenge #5 — I heard a secret..





	The Art of Losing a One-Sided Competition: A Comprehensive Guide by Professor Kim Doyoung (PhD)

**Author's Note:**

> a massive thank you to my beta, Ann!!! your feedback really helped to motivate me and i am so grateful for everything!!! <33
> 
> enjoy~

Doyoung is almost certain that if he gives his class an exercise to describe him in three words or less, at least ninety-five percent of them would include ‘competitive’ in their lists. But it isn’t his fault, really, that his lesson plan just happens to have enough time to squeeze in some team activities at the end of each session. 

It fosters healthy competition, sportsmanship even, and it makes sure the students pay attention and participate in his classes. Or at least that’s what he had convinced his co-workers in the staff meeting when they had complained about the noise disrupting the entire floor. In the end, Doyoung had simply promised to be a little more mindful of the noise levels, and he was off the hook. 

“Professor, they’re beating us!” someone calls his attention, and Doyoung’s eyes immediately fly to the chalkboard, where one of his students is busily drawing in a sharp, neat line on the tally for the other team. Doyoung feels his pulse pick up under his skin in return. His team is _losing_. 

So Doyoung takes matters into his own hands, shouting out the answer to the next question even before the poor kid finishes reading through the options from the quiz booklet Doyoung had bought specifically for this purpose. His team cheers loudly and a grin pulls at his lips as he sees the scores even on the board. 

He reluctantly plops his weight back onto one of the student’s chairs, fixing his shirt sleeve where it had bunched uncomfortably at his elbows from pumping his fists in the air. The students had kept complaining that he was an unfair advantage to whichever team he was on, so Doyoung makes a point of joining a different group every class. Even still, he tries to only join in on the fun when his team is falling behind. 

Moving his focus from the board, he leans his head back against the window behind him as his eyes fall shut. The morning sunlight hits his face and drips onto the desk, making him almost uncomfortably warm in the sweater vest he’s wearing over his shirt. His class is loud; insistent voices shouting over one another as they all try to guess the correct answer. A couple of windows are open in the class, but the fan squeaking over their heads only circulates the sweltering air. 

Doyoung re-opens his eyes just to trace them over his students instead, content with simply observing them. There are always one or two who sit at the back, resolutely staring at the pages of their notebooks, pens bobbing up and down incessantly. It had bothered Doyoung at first, but with time, he’d learnt to just accept it and let them be. 

His heart swells with pride as he looks around the room. It comes as almost a shock when he realizes how engaged his students are, how they laugh and smile and actually enjoy learning. It’s all Doyoung could want, it’s all he puts his energy into. He feels so lucky, so blessed, to be able to interact with them, to spend so much time together, helping them to shape their lives and their futures. To help them fall in love with learning and want to improve themselves. 

He knows how hard it can be, especially in the final year of high school, when everything just seems so much more important and intriguing than trying to find the integrating factor of a differential equation. His students are genuinely hard workers for the most part, but Doyoung hates walking into a classroom and having to see them half-asleep on their desks, with darkness circling their eyes, and with yawns so big and loud that he feels to walk straight back through the door. 

That’s why he’d started the activities - to get them more engaged and make the lessons a little more interesting. He’d been hesitant at first, worried about if it would even help them, and it had taken countless sleepless nights and coffee runs on his part to alter his lesson plans to suit a different teaching style. But it’s absolutely worth it to see the way his student’s eyes light up when he enters, and the way they learn and hang on to every word he says just in case it appears as a question in their games. 

Doyoung realizes with a start, how soon this is all going to be over. This is their last year in high school, his last year being their homeroom teacher, their advanced math teacher; the last couple months that he would get to mentor them and help them and teach them and just be with them. He’s developed such a close bond with all of them, and suddenly he can’t imagine them just leaving him behind. Yes, there’ll be others, but this was his first homeroom class, and he’d been with them for all of three years. No class could ever replace that.

So when Doyoung hears their voices getting just a little louder, he doesn’t even bother trying to get them to be quiet; he’s too busy trying to blink burning tears out of his eyes. Because he cares so much about them, he’s so _proud_ of how far they have come. His students are the closest thing he has to children, and he’s going to miss them so much.

And when someone bursts in through the door a couple minutes later, sharp eyes drawing over the students and coming to a pointed stop on him, it really isn’t a surprise. And it’s even less of a surprise when Doyoung wipes the tears from blurring his vision to see who exactly stands at the door. With a deep sigh, he pulls himself to his feet and walks over. 

Doyoung hears the hushed whisper of conversation rising from his class, and he has to bite his lip to keep from smiling. His students are no doubt gossiping about the ‘rivalry’ between the two teachers, their supposed hatred for one another. They’re probably wondering exactly what they are going to be privy to witness on such a glorious Tuesday evening. The corners of Doyoung’s lips itch to tip up into a smile at the other man, but he purses them instead, adding the final, perfect touch to his unimpressed glare. 

“Professor Lee,” he spits out with all the disgust he can muster, and Doyoung practically feels Taeyong’s body vibrating with laughter at his attempt at malice. Taeyong clenches his jaw, and it really is such a fucking nice jaw, outling the sharp angles of his face and giving him a regal appearance. Doyoung can’t help getting distracted, he can’t stop his eyes from dropping to trace along the pale, milky white skin just disappearing down the collar of his black shirt, tucked neatly into his pants and emphasizing his slim waist.

Doyoung only realizes he’s staring when Taeyong clears his throat, voice harsh and cold as he recalls, “I believe you were saying something.” But the tips of his ears are bright red, and this time, Doyoung has to dig his nails into his thighs to stop his grin. 

“I wanted to know if there was a problem.” And fuck his voice for being so hoarse, but it really is entirely Taeyong’s fault for being so goddamn sexy. “You seem to have lost your way; unless you needed a little help with your math? I know you probably get a little rusty from staring at words and essays all day long.”

Taeyong just snorts in return, probably remembering the last time they argued about which was superior between maths and science, and social sciences. Their fight had ended not too long after it started, harsh, meaningless words pressed against each other’s lips until they were too jumbled and breathy to be understood. 

“I’ve never used maths one single time in my life since I finished high school, but thank you for the offer, _Professor_.” The smirk on Taeyong’s face should be illegal, the way their banter lights up his eyes mischievously and sets Doyoung’s heart on fire like it is an instinct. “Now, if you don’t mind, some people were trying to do _actual work_ , while you and your class were playing around and disrupting the entire floor.”

And it’s almost an afterthought, as Taeyong turns around, just something thrown about without a care, but Doyoung hears it clear as day. He knows Taeyong meant him to. “Maybe this is why your highest student score last year was only 95.” Doyoung feels his pulse skipping under his skin, and he takes a deep, rattling breath. Because fuck Lee Taeyong for always managing to get on his nerves. 

But Doyoung just scoffs out loud, an insult already on the tip of his tongue. His voice isn’t quite as harsh as he’d wanted it to be, and he blames it entirely on how good Taeyong looks in the black button-up and dark jeans that hug his thighs in just the right places. 

“You’re awfully confident for someone whose class average was 74.” Taeyong sucks in a harsh breath, eyes flashing as he rounds on him, already spluttering excuses for his poor class performance. Doyoung yawns tiredly as he speaks, already certain that he’s won this round of their battle. 

“That’s only because someone missed _all my exams!_ ” Taeyong tries to argue, and his voice echoes through the empty hallways. Doyoung just smirks back at him, leaning against the door frame as the bell rings over their heads, soft music singing praises of his victory. 

But as it turns out, his joy is entirely too short lived. In the single second where the students are too busy packing up or dropping exhaustedly onto their desks, Taeyong steps just an inch closer to him, rests his warm hand on Doyoung’s bare forearm, and whispers, “Chemistry Lab 3, lunchtime.” 

Doyoung swallows as Taeyong shoots him an almost nervous smile before rushing off as the halls begin to fill with students. Sometimes, it’s almost too hard for Doyoung to tell the difference between losing and winning when it comes to Lee Taeyong. 

Almost. 

.

Honestly, Doyoung can’t seem to figure out why it’s still a secret. Whatever it is that he and Taeyong have going on, it’s been almost a year and a half already. It made sense at first, because back then, it was simply a no strings attached relationship. He would just be innocently walking down the corridors, and Taeyong would appear at his side, scan up and down the hallways, and pull him into an empty classroom to make out until the bell rang. 

That’s how it had _started_. 

But somewhere along the way, it had become a little more than that, and all of a sudden, Taeyong started sleeping over at his house, cuddling late into the night and even before sunrise, they were making breakfast together, and driving to school early enough that no one would see them getting out of the same car. It’s _nice,_ but Doyoung would be damned if he doesn’t want even more than that. 

He wants to be able to sit next to Taeyong at staff meetings and link their fingers together, he wants to walk through the hallways at his side and drop him off to his classes. He wants to be disgustingly cute with him: leave him little post-it messages on his meals, take him out to look at the stars and to small street cafes; he wants everything with Taeyong. And he knows, every single time Taeyong looks at him, eyes hopelessly fond and so gentle, he _knows_ that Taeyong wants it too. 

But for some reason, neither of them have taken the leap of faith and just pushed their relationship over the edge. They’re still in this awkward friends-with-benefits stage, but at the same time, they are both almost painfully aware of their feelings for one another. It would be so simple, just a single word, really, would be enough to change everything.  
.  
It infuriates Doyoung to no end, because he cannot lose, he _would not lose_ their little battle: the shared smirks across crowded hallways, bumping purposely into one another, their playful bickering and their acting like they despise one another. Taeyong tests the very limits of his resolve, the heights of his endurance; he pushes him as far as is humanly possible to resist. 

But Doyoung is every bit as competitive as Taeyong is patient, so he bides his time in silence. And when Taeyong pouts at him with big, soft eyes and even softer lips every single time he pushes them apart so they wouldn’t be late to take attendance, he ignores the way his hands try to fist in the other man’s clothes and pull him close again. 

And before sunrise when they wake up wrapped around one another with the soft rain pattering against his window panes, and his heart _aches_ to just curl up against him and stay there forever, Doyoung forces himself up and off the bed, discounting the way his muscles protest as Taeyong groans at the lack of warmth. 

And on mornings when Taeyong slides his arms around his hips when he’s cooking breakfast and presses himself against Doyoung’s back; and when Taeyong wordlessly links their fingers together as Doyoung drives them to school; and between kisses when he mumbles nothing and everything against Doyoung’s burning skin as he trails his mouth down the column of his neck. Doyoung steels himself and bears it all with an ungodly patience. 

Because _nothing_ matters more than winning. 

And so he waits. 

.

All things considered, it’s probably a good thing for the both of them when Johnny bursts into the IT lab that Friday, spilling brightness into the darkened room and casting a spotlight on their intertwined bodies. Doyoung is so entirely shocked at being found, that he can’t even move a muscle, and his legs just remain wrapped around Taeyong’s hips, pulling him against the table where he sits. 

“Just thought you two should know,” Johnny’s voice filters in from the door, but Doyoung’s eyes are still trying to get accustomed to the bright light and Johnny is nothing more than a blurry haze. “There’s an impromptu staff meeting now, so you should probably take your hands out of each other’s pants and clean up.” 

Doyoung freezes, heart drumming and mind racing as he tries to make sense of Johnny’s words. _He knew?_

“You know?” Taeyong voices his thoughts, voice cracking and hoarse and making Doyoung’s pulse stutter under his skin. Taeyong’s breathing is still heavy, and the puffs of air flutter against the hair atop Doyoung’s head.  
Johnny just scoffs in return, his loud laugh reverberating in the large room, in rhythm with the pounding of Doyoung’s heart in his ears.

“You guys were trying to keep it a secret? With all that disgustingly adorable flirting?” he jokes instead, snickering to himself before Doyoung hears his footsteps receding away from the door as he heads back to the staff room. Doyoung is left utterly speechless; he’d genuinely thought that he and Taeyong had done a good job at hiding their relationship. His mind storms with unanswered questions, but more than anything, one emotion stands out as he feels a burning warmth growing in his chest. 

He’s relieved that someone has found out. He’s overwhelmingly happy, _content._ Because, maybe now things might finally change between them. Taeyong just laughs breathily, as bewildered as he is, and Doyoung’s heart aches with want when he feels their lips just brushing against one another. 

And Doyoung _knows_ that they need to talk about it, he knows that their battle hasn’t ended quite yet, but in that moment, he can’t find it in himself to care about not giving in first. So his fingers just tangle in Taeyong’s hair, as he pulls him close again to crash their lips together. 

Taeyong cradles his face ever so gently, thumb streaking across his cheekbone and forcing him to slow down. Doyoung’s mind is too clouded to do anything but comply and he lets Taeyong take the lead. Taeyong’s lips slot between his, and he sucks so tenderly on his lower lip that Doyoung can’t help as he lets out a soft whimper in his mouth. He feels Taeyong smiling against his lips, even as he drags his tongue over the seam of Doyoung’s mouth over and over again, until he can’t even breathe anymore. 

Every inch of Doyoung’s skin burns with a kind of overwhelming intensity, almost painfully electric. Taeyong’s hand against his cheek and fingers running down his chest and tracing up his arms to tug at his hair. Doyoung’s heart pounds over their heavy, intermingled breaths and tiny grunts and sighs. 

His blood screams in his ears, and through his foggy mind, he can only think of the boy standing in front of him, kissing him with so much unadulterated fondness that it makes his heart burst with contentment. Because Taeyong is finally _his_ ; after months and months of chasing after one another, playing some kind of cat and mouse game with their feelings. This was what he’d wanted, since the very beginning, and nothing in his entire life has ever felt so right as Taeyong pressing their foreheads together and whispering, “I love you,” as he leaves the gentlest of kisses on his nose and his cheeks. 

And Doyoung thinks that never before has losing left the sweet taste of victory on his tongue.


End file.
